


The Positive Outcomes of Wrong Choices

by catstrophysics (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Badass Kevin Tran, I. Miss Rowena., Love Spell, M/M, Oddly motivational?, One Shot, Wack idk, Witchcraft, written for a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/catstrophysics
Summary: The Outcasts, they came to be grouped as, stood together, and yet they were invisible. That’s the issue with being abnormal, isn’t it? No one listens. No one listens until all hell breaks loose.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The Positive Outcomes of Wrong Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [will_heronduck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_heronduck/gifts).



> I wrote this for @ishouldbestudyingformyfinals in our Tumblr DMs a few months back, and finally managed to edit it into coherence! Hope you all enjoy!

There was a boy, once, who made all the wrong choices. Wrong school, wrong classes, wrong friends, wrong life. He didn’t fit in, and being the outcast became all he knew. Standing apart, standing outside. It didn’t matter that he had apple-green eyes, that he could run the fastest mile in the whole school. He was different. They laughed at him, the boy with the bow legs, who took his little brother to the movies on Saturday instead of going to a party. They laughed behind his back, to his face, anywhere. They called him crazy when he talked about the monsters in the woods, talked about demons in their town. And they didn’t listen, most of all. 

No one except the other outcasts. 

A boy with an angel’s name and a warrior’s heart, hidden behind rosy cheeks and sky-blue eyes, called “pretty boy” by his classmates and mocked for his delicacy.

The girl with flames for hair and a penchant for the extralegal, binary code running through her veins more naturally than blood. They called her queer, pushed her aside in favor of the blondes. 

A small-framed boy who hid in the library, words on paper more powerful than those he could say, living in the shadow of a mother and an uncertain father. “Prophet,” they joked, when he warned of things just a bit too far in the future to be real. 

The Outcasts, they came to be grouped as, stood together, and yet they were invisible. That’s the issue with being abnormal, isn’t it? No one listens. No one listens until all hell breaks loose. The Outcasts walked the halls together, alone in their group but no longer lonely. The eyes of their classmates continued to slide over them, and they wore their wallflower nature as a shield. 

Until one of Kevin’s prophecies, dismissed by most as another rambling fueled by not enough sleep, came true. He’d warned of an impostor in the school, of a threat, and been laughed off. Then someone pulled the fire alarm, sending shock waves of students running out of the building. Earth, water, and fire, green, blue, and red—the outcasts minus one, missing their prophet—did not run. At least, not with the students. 

It wasn’t a drill, and the shaking of Dean’s hands, the chill of a disturbance in the world, was suddenly all too real. He grabbed for Castiel, whose fingers were warm and solid, and the trio took off towards the main office, watching from a distance as the secretary to the principal left her desk in a hurry. The office was, terrifyingly, empty. 

Empty of people, at least.

The stench of rotten eggs filled the air, and their prophet, running to join them, coughed as he got a lungful.

“Where is he?” Kevin asked, drawing his sweater tighter around his shoulders and looking worriedly at the other boys, scanning for their third friend. “And where’s Charlie?” 

“She’s gone to get her computer,” Dean explained, “but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

“Demon?” Castiel asked. “At Lawrence High?” His eyes were incredulous; the supernatural, after all, did not tend to reside in the cow-dominated fields of Kansas. 

“Demon,” Dean agreed. “We need the road salt.” 

And for the first time, his record-setting mile came in handy as he sprinted to the maintenance shed, passing Charlie on the way. 

“Be careful,” he warned, and she nodded grimly. It was, after all, not her first encounter with the dark side of reality. Castiel panted behind him, keeping pace remarkably well, and he called out: 

“Dean, don’t leave me here, you need me!” Dean slowed. The words struck a chord in him. He needed the blue-eyed boy, had grown to depend on him, to call him one of his own, and school be damned, he wanted the boy beside him. His own hands were steadier now that there was a protocol, now that he knew it was a simple exorcism. Once again, he took Castiel’s hand, but this time to steady the other boy as they approached the shed. “Help me carry one of these bags,” he grunted, and hoisted a 25-pound blue bag of salt onto his shoulder. 

Running back to the school was faster, almost, adrenaline and fear coursing through them even as they carried extra weight. A purple flash blossomed from the office, and they slowed. A girl screamed. 

_Charlie._

“That color,” Dean whispered, words barely audible over his own heartbeat, “I don’t think this is just a demon. Leave the salt here, and cover me.” 

He crept back towards the office, watching as the shadows of his friends stood stock-still and the thick frame of their principal wove between them. A fourth, unidentifiable shape hovered just out of view. He pushed open the door, Castiel on his heels, breathing shallowly. 

“Dean, dearie, I didn’t expect you here!” Came a cheerful voice in a thick, Scottish accent. 

“Rowena?” 

The boy who made all the wrong choices stared the worst choice of all in the eyes, and despair fell over him. She knew him too well, knew his weaknesses, knew how to render him broken on the floor. It was over. Their principal stood motionless in the corner, eyes fixed on the floor.

“What did you do to him?” Kevin demanded, shaking himself from his stupor to face the witch opposite. “Put him back!” 

_“Relinquo!”_ she commanded, and a stream of thick grey smoke flooded from his mouth and nostrils. He collapsed on the floor, out cold. “Dean, dear, you really oughtn’t mess with me like this,” she chided, tsking softly. “It’s just not worth it.” 

_She’s right, you know,_ said the soft voice in his head, but it was drowned out by other, louder voices next to him. 

“He’s stronger than you think, ma’am,” Kevin said, voice quavering but staring firmly at her. “He’s strong.” 

“You’re just a wannabe, bitch,” came Charlie’s brash defense, and she stepped up, shoulder-to-shoulder with Kevin. “And he’s gonna beat you.” 

“I believe in Dean Winchester,” came a final voice, one that sent shivers down his spine, of gratitude or perhaps something stronger. 

And suddenly, seventeen years of wrong choices were repaired by the right choice: friends, three, standing beside him, unashamed. On his left, Castiel, whose visage had shunted him aside in the crowds, placed one arm around his waist. A wall against the witch. On his right, Charlie, who broke laws for the right causes and who never backed down from a fight, placed her hand on his shoulder. 

Kevin, to her right, voice lost in the cacophony for years before, said one thing more: “You won’t win.” 

Something in Dean reminded him that she was a powerful witch and they were four teenagers, scrawny and sleep-deprived, and he quieted it quickly. She bowed her head in concession. “Very well,” she accepted, “but Dean, dearie, I need one thing from you.” 

“Yeah?” He was wary, now. Her requests could be... irrational. 

“Love. Are your dear mother and father home?” She grinned at him, mocking, and he seethed. _The one thing he couldn’t give._

“Love, is it?” asked Castiel, who reached around Dean to slide Charlie’s hand off his shoulder. “We can do that.” 

“Just go with it, Dean.” 

Castiel’s eyes were blue, yes, but since when was there gold, and grey, and hints of shimmering white in their depths? Standing face-to-face with the boy made his heart clench. “Oh. Cas, I—” 

“I know.”

A deep breath, and the air between them began to glow silver and gold. Love, it seemed, was electrifying, and the space between them crackled with it. 

“I love you, too, Cas.” 

Classes resumed, and though no one could explain the giant bag of road salt in the middle of the hallway or the hour-long gap in their principal’s memory, the students suspected it had something to do with the two boys, hands intertwined, grinning wildly at each other, the girl hugging her laptop to her chest, and the boy from the corner of the library, walking amongst them as a normal student once again.

To be an outcast can hurt, can sting, can burn, but to be an outcast with others is the safest home one could hope for.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this nice and short oneshot! It was a nice change from what I usually write. If you liked it, throw me some kudos/comments! I'm @catstrophysics on Tumblr, come say hi! Happy New Year:)


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